


Through the valley

by Angelicasdean



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Arthur Whump, Blood and Gore, Canonical Character Death, Car Accidents, Child Death, Demons, Drowning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fear, Ghosts, Grieving, Hallucinations, Horror, Hurt No Comfort, Like don't even get your hopes up, M/M, Mental Instability, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Drug Use, Poltergeists, Protective Family, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Sad Ending, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, no deaths tho, supportive family, supportive parents, very sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-01-29 14:43:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21411877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelicasdean/pseuds/Angelicasdean
Summary: “His eyes settle on Arthur with indifference, calm, collected, used to half crazed men busting down his door at 3 am after fleeing their homes, apparently.“Then, will you tell me what happened?” he asks, and Arthur blinks, holding Copper closer to his chest and heaving a sigh. Where the hell should he start?Following the murder of his wife and child, Arthur finds himself faced with an invisible obstacle that he can't surpass. What everyone expected to be grief turns out to be much, much more as Arthur finds himself not only losing his last threads of sanity but also the loose grip he had had on what's left of his life. What will he do when the impossible comes to haunt him?
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Charles Smith, Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde, Arthur Morgan & Isaac Morgan, Eliza/Arthur Morgan, Hosea Matthews & Arthur Morgan, Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde, John Marston & Arthur Morgan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my most recent project! This is going to be a long one :D
> 
> This chapter's TW's: Mentioned Child death, mentioned spousal death, mentioned suicidal thoughts.

Her words echo through his mind, mocking his every emotion, sending spirals of shame up and down his spine. _He doesn’t deserve to feel this way_.

The room is silent, as if empty of life, even Copper’s huffs aren’t echoing against the walls. Arthur’s eyes are closed, focused, thinking back to every sin, every mistake he made in his life that could have amounted to this moment.

“Mister Morgan?” His eyes are boring into Arthur’s skull, with endless amounts of patience. Arthur shakes his head, and he hears him sigh, “Have you taken the sleeping medication?”

“It isn’t about _sleep_,” Arthur growls, voice laced with venom, bloodshot eyes snapping open to glare at the therapist. His eyes settle on Arthur with indifference, calm, collected, used to half-crazed men busting down his door at 3 am after fleeing their homes, apparently.

“Then, will you tell me what happened?” he asks, and Arthur blinks, holding Copper closer to his chest and heaving a sigh. Where the hell should he start?

-

The suit was only a bit too tight on him, but that is the least of his concerns.

Hosea holds his left hand firmly, just like he did when Arthur woke up from his nightmares as a kid. In some ways, this feels like an ongoing nightmare, one that no matter how hard he tried, he can’t escape. The caskets have been lowered, the graves are covered, all that’s left of his family are two menacing headstones.

“You can stay with me,” John says quietly, fingers curling around Arthur’s right wrist. John’s gruff voice snaps him out of the fog that surrounded his mind. Arthur shakes his head, Hosea had already offered, but he _can’t_.

“One of us can stay with you, then,” Hosea tries, “You’re not in a good headspace, Arthur, it’s not good to be alone in a time like this,” he explains softly, hand squeezing Arthur’s.

“I’ll be fine,” he insists, ignoring Dutch’s sad stare at the side of his face, or how John’s face twists in grief. His life had gotten ripped from under his feet, his family is no longer beside him, all his future plans have been flushed down the drain.

But…

He can’t stay with anyone, might just go insane if he forces himself to act at least functional for more than a day. It’s only been a few hours, and his head is already aching with how much he’s holding back. He needs some time alone, to think and digest what had happened. To adjust.

“Arthur…” Hosea squeezes his hand again, firmer, holds it tightly before letting go and pulling him into a hug, “I’ll always be there for you,” he whispers, hug crushing Arthur in the best way possible. His shoulders fall as he hugs back, and it takes all the might he has to not break down right then and there.

“I know,” Arthur replies, “you’ve always been there,”

-

It was a group decision that Arthur doesn’t drive, for his safety as well as the pedestrians’. John had offered, but Jack was already fussy from the lack of activities and a crying four-year-old doesn’t fit in Arthur’s agenda. Hosea and Dutch needed to talk to the wedding handlers, a task they graciously took from Arthur’s hand, to cancel all the plans Arthur had set.

Charles had taken the responsibility of driving him home, seeing as he lives the closest and doesn’t have any ties that would make Arthur a burden. The car, just like the field where Eliza and Isaac now rest eternally, is silent, save for the distant chippering of birds.

It really is beautiful country, peaceful and calm all year round.

Isaac loved it. He loved the vast expanse of fields he could run through with Copper, loved the lush garden that they spent most of their free time in. His love was inherited from Arthur, and the two would often sneak away into the woods to watch animals and birds while Eliza works or studies. His kid was _so bright_, a force of happiness that never failed to envelop Arthur and Eliza whenever life got too hard.

“Arthur,” Charles says, voice low, “we’re here,” his voice is soft and gentle as he points out, and Arthur blinks the blur in his eyes; focusing on the innocent-looking house.

He starts to regret not taking up Hosea or John’s offer, he can’t stand looking at the blue-tiled house. He can almost hear Eliza’s usual greeting, Isaac’s shouted hello. He blinks again, looking back to Charles, who’s eyes are soft and sympathetic. Arthur can’t even bring himself to care that he’s pitied, he can barely breathe at the very sight of the house.

The key burns a hole through his suit jacket pocket, his hand is numb but he can’t stay here _forever_. Though his heart desires.

“Thanks for the ride,” Arthur mumbles, forcing the door open, flexing his hand when it feels too cold, “ ‘ppreciate it”

“it’s nothing,” Charles dismisses, watching as Arthur climbed out of the car with uneven footing, back to the house while he takes in a deep breath, “Call me, if you need anything,” Charles says, “you know I’m on vacation for the rest of the month, I’m free if you need anything,” he recites, and Arthur closes the door and leans into the open window, “you’re not alone,”

“I know, thanks, Charles,” Arthur says, and Charles nods, “see you,”

“Yeah, see you soon,” Arthur leans back, allowing Charles to pull away from the street.

The house towers over him, almost smiling down in mockery with its bright, clean colors. They’d built it together, or well… they renovated it. Eliza had a good eye, always seemed like she could spot the gems beneath the dirt. Picked an old, broken down mold-infested house that Arthur would have never spared a glance to except in disgust, turned it into what was his little slice of paradise on earth.

He can see Copper hopping around the house, barking at Arthur through the closed window. With a heavy sigh, Arthur musters up the courage to dig the key out of his pocket and force it into the lock.

He doesn’t know what he expected, truly. Maybe that the beige interior would be sullied? that the mold would be back? Maybe that everything Eliza, him and Isaac built would vanish?

Everything is still untouched, save for the closed-off area where Eliza and Isaac were found…

Arthur shakes his head, casting away the image of their bloody, scared lifeless eyes staring at him when his stomach typhooned. The cops have gone through several times to get every single detail, and those were the worst two weeks in Arthur’s life. He’d stayed with Hosea, but there was no solace in his stay, he practically didn’t leave the room no matter how hard Dutch and Hosea tried.

Copper dances a circle around him, and Arthur whistles gently for him to follow, not that he doubted Copper wouldn’t tail him. Throwing the keys haphazardly onto the coffee table, Arthur beelines to the liquor cabinet.

Copper woofs behind him, hopping onto the couch just as Arthur grabs the fullest whiskey bottle and plopping down beside him. Arthur doesn’t bother trying to get comfortable, letting Copper flop on top of him and unscrewing the cap. One hand resting on top of Copper’s head.

\--

Half-empty bottle in hand, Arthur finds himself conveniently throwing up, head almost all the way into the toilet. Copper is pawing at his back, rubbing his nose all around Arthur’s arm in distress. Good God, it’s been a good few years since he drank so heavily.

Despite what he thought, what he _hoped_, it brought nothing other than a feeling of absolute loneliness to him. He longed to hug Eliza and sing her praises as he did when they had first started seeing each other.

His head is plastered to his arm, leaning on the toilet heavily. Copper noses at his elbow before lodging his head under Arthur’s arm, ears pressing against his chest. If there’s one thing he’s thankful for, it’s having Copper be at his side, and he coos as such while sluggishly carding his fingers through Copper’s fur.

“You gon’ die on me too, boy?” Arthur asks, eyes already tearing up again. Damnit, did he have to be such a drunk mess right now? “I can’t have you leavin’ me too, pup,” Arthur admits, “please don’t”

Copper stares at him, dark eyes sparkling under the light of the bathroom. He whines, pressing his head into Arthur’s chest again, and Arthur takes in a deep breath, sitting up proper and holding Copper’s face between his two hands.

“Don’t you leave, you hear me?” Arthur says, as stern as he can while drunk off his ass. Copper stares again, eyes darting to the side for a moment before he stands and raises his paws to Arthur’s face, balancing only to finally prop himself on Arthur’s shoulders. “Good boy,” Arthur mumbles, giving a generous scratch behind Copper’s ears.

\---

It’s about dawn now, a brand-new day born as Arthur lays tiredly on his disheveled bed. The curtains are closed but he can see the outside getting brighter and brighter. Copper had fallen asleep a while back, and Arthur missed having his reliable warmth under his fingers.

He had barely gotten an hour of sleep, awoken by a pounding headache and a terrible nightmare. He didn’t expect anything else. Before, Eliza would have dug up their painkillers and stayed with him until he felt human again.

Today, he just lays on his bed.

His phone starts to ring, the cheery tune disturbing the eerie silence that had been deafening Arthur for the past few hours. Numbly, he checks who it is, blinking at the blurry screen and grimacing when he sees Sean’s name. He knows what he’ll say, and he doesn’t want to hear it. Hosea probably talked to him, probably asked him to call.

He hangs up, throws the phone across the bed and buries his head under the sheets, almost suffocating himself.

The phone rings again, and Arthur groans out loud, not moving for a few seconds before shouting a curse and stretching to snatch the phone from where it lies. He answers blindly, growling a “what” before it’s even close to his ears.

“Arthur,” Sean says, voice unnaturally calm, “sorry to call so soon,” Arthur huffs, and he can hear Sean sigh before speaking again. “You probably know why I’m calling,”

“Yes,” Arthur says, “and the answer is still no”

“It’ll help you, Arthur, you _know_ it will,” Sean promises, and deep-down Arthur truly does, but he _can’t, _“you ain’t even gon’ do nothin! And you know Kieran just moved in with Mary-Beth, so there’s space for you and Copper and anything you’d like to bring with ya!”

“I’m not leaving the house, Sean,” Arthur repeats, rubbing his face with his free hand, staring at the ring still on his finger when it glints in the dark room.

“But _why,_” Sean asks, and Arthur rolls his eyes, hand dropping to fist the sheets instead, “Morgan, you saw your wife and child dead in that house O’ yours, that ain’t an environment to grieve in!”

“It’s none of your business, Sean,” Arthur grits out, and Sean sighs again.

“ ‘Least let me visit,” He asks, voice quiet again, “it ain’t good, shuttin’ yourself off like that, you know it”

“Not this week,” Arthur says, and the other side is silent, “Jus’…just need to get my head sorted ‘s all,” he excuses and Sean remains silent for a moment.

“I worry for ya, English,” Sean admits, “Ain’t seen your face before the funeral for weeks, when the news hit, we thought you’ve been killed too,” Arthur releases the sheets, rolling to his back as Sean continues, “You didn’t talk to nothin’, not even Hosea and Dutch. We thought you was dead”

“Well… I ain’t,” though he wishes he was, life ain’t like it used to be. There is no meaning to living anymore. His aspirations were to see Eliza as his wife, see Isaac grow up to be the lawyer he wanted to be, marry a fine person, maybe see have a grandchild. Nothing of that is available now.

Seems his soul died right beside them, he ain’t nothing but a hollow shell. Not fit to be in society anymore, better off in a grave.

“Arthur-” Sean starts, but Arthur is already pulling the phone away from his ear and hanging up. His head is killing him now, and the tears starting to stain his cheeks aren’t helping.

On a whim, he takes the battery out of the phone. Damn phone calls, damn Hosea and Dutch, and Sean, and John and all those people. He doesn’t _need_ to leave, can’t they see? He’ll be fine, he just needs _time._

Copper barks from the other room and Arthur snaps his head towards the sound. Copper’s pitter-pattering footsteps pacing loudly as he runs through the house. Arthur’s vision swims as he crawls off the bed, almost tripping over the discarded jacket he threw somewhere around midnight. The door swings, and in his half-drunk haze, he slams his head against the door.

He stumbles back a few steps, foot catching on the jacket again before he loses his balance and tumbles to the ground.

The door creaks ominously, almost comically, as Arthur stares at the beige ceiling. Tired, unencouraged and uncaring; he decides whatever Copper is barking at isn’t worth it as he closes his eyes.

\---

His eyes slowly flutter open, blinking a few times as he collects his consciousness. He must’ve been out for some time, the light behind his curtains is missing. Eyes cast towards the ceiling, they slowly adjust to the darkness.

It takes a moment, where his eyes dart towards every detail on the ceiling, that he remembers _how _he got on the floor. His head doesn’t throb, thankfully, but something horrible twists in Arthur’s gut as he sits up. The house is absolutely dark, as Arthur carefully pulls the door open. He palms the hallway lights, and they shine bright, blinding him for a moment.

Eyes blinking, arm shading them, Arthur squints when the light flickers threateningly. “Pup?” Arthur calls, passing the bathroom and ducking his head into it and scanning the floor, then the tub. Empty. He steps backwards out of the bathroom, concern creeping up his spine as well as dread. His eyes blur for a moment when tears threaten to spill as Arthur takes in a deep breath.

No need to assume the worst, Copper might just be asleep or playing downstairs. Arthur shakes his head, hoping it would rattle out the thoughts swirling inside.

The hallway seems longer, somehow, as Arthur walks its length. The light flickers again, shutting completely off as Arthur’s hand hovers over the door handle. His gut churns again, bile pushing against the back of his throat as he slowly unlocks it. His hand falls limp as the door ominously creaks open, and slowly, the dark room starts to reveal itself.

Arthur averts his eyes, catching sight of the last remaining tape framing the wall. He knows what he’ll see, stared at it for three days straight when the cops let him back. The blood that never quite left the baby blue walls, the stained floorboards, even after countless hours of scrubbing. Arthur never got to clean the house of their blood entirely.

The light flickers above, fast, then slow and rhythmic. Finally, it settles.

Arthur stares up at the bulb, distracted by its newfound buzz. A small whimper reaches his ears, and he snaps his eyes towards the room in panic. Had Copper somehow hurt himself? “Copper? Pup?” Arthur calls, then whistles, panic ever-growing when Copper didn’t respond.

He barely starts to move forward when he feels the floor underneath him shift, something tight twisting in his chest as he finds himself pulled into the room. Arthur barely gets to think before the door slams loudly, echoing in the ringing of his ears as silence stretches.

He’s breathing hard, Arthur realizes, staring at his fingers curled against the floor as he waits. He doesn’t want to look up, eyes transfixed on the stain beneath his palms.

Did _they_ come back?

Finally, after the fear that had crawled up his neck subsides, he slowly looks up, finds himself facing the stained wall. Arthur pointedly turns away, jumping out of his skin when he spots the figure waiting for him beside the perfectly made bed.

He instantly recognizes her, soft, long black hair reaching her shoulders as she stares at Arthur. He can’t help but gawk back, her face still caved in from where the murderer had hit her, her cheek still bleeding, eyes still wide like when Arthur found her.

Heart racing, palm sweating, Arthur tries to back away from her when she takes the first step. Pale skin no longer rosy like it had been once before, pink lips now bloodied and bruised; but moving as if to speak.

Arthur’s heart is beating so loud now, he can feel it against his ribs, and he can almost hear it thumping. She drips blood as she walks, staining the floor even more, and her eyes never blink. Eliza tilts her head when Arthur’s back hits the wall, heart thumping even louder now as she gets closer… and closer… and closer until Arthur can smell the blood on her. Her lips are in a sick smile, broken teeth, and dislocated jaw sending a shiver up Arthur’s spine.

Eliza opens her mouth, jaw cracking sickeningly as she tries to speak. Just before he can hear her, loud bangs pop in Arthur’s ears. His eyes snap shut when he feels the room vibrate beneath him, and he opens them briefly to find nothing but Eliza’s eyes staring at him.

He jerks away, closing his eyes once more…

He hadn’t expected for his head to hit the floor when his eyes opened, didn’t think he’d see the ceiling either. The thumping is still there, though, as Arthur slowly sits up, head raging with a headache as his doorbell rings almost obsessively. Copper is howling loudly, and it all seems like the end of the world as he stumbles down the flight of stairs, vision swimming as the noise gets louder and louder.

Copper is beside the door, and Arthur snaps it open when he’s close enough. Sun sizzling his eyes, stabbing at his brain, Arthur almost falls while he stumbles back into the shade of his house. He squints, blinking as the vague silhouette growing features as none other than John follows his lead into the house, closing the door behind him.

“Jesus Christ!” John says, taking several steps towards Arthur, “What the hell happened, are you okay?” John asks, Arthur swatting away his concerned gaze and gentle hands swiping at his forehead.

“ ‘m fine, ‘cept for all that bangin’ you started, killing my head,” Arthur groans, blinking stupidly when John raised his fingers to show the blood staining them, “oh,” Arthur says simply, hand coming to touch his forehead. Stinging, his fingers return bloodied, and he vaguely remembers smacking himself with his bedroom door.

“Sit down, I’ll fix you up,” John ushers, practically dragging Arthur towards the living room and forcing him to sit on the couch, “What happened?” he asks as he leaves to grab the first aid kit, Arthur watches him disappear into the guest bathroom, staying silent as Copper sits calmly beside his leg, slowly inching to rest his head on Arthur’s knee.

“Nothing important,” Arthur says when John pokes his head out of the bathroom with a raised eyebrow. John rolls his eyes, emerging fully with the kit already opened and sitting beside Arthur.

“Did you do it to yourself?” He asks, tone quiet as he pulls out the disinfectant.

“In a sense,” Arthur answers truthfully. John’s hand pauses, and the younger man slowly looks up towards Arthur.

“Did you mean to?” John asks, voice impossibly void of emotions as his eyes scan Arthur. It sinks in slowly, Arthur pulling the stings together and piecing the idea John’s proposing.

If thoughts could thud, the room would be shaking.

“I ain’t about to kill myself, _John_,” Arthur snaps, taking a defensive stand as he physically stands, “why are you here?” Arthur grits out accusingly, John calmly putting the kit down and standing too.

“I wasn’t saying that,” John says, hesitant hand coming to touch Arthur’s arm, “We was worried about you, Sean called us near frantic with worry ‘cause you hung up on him and he weren’t able to call you. Hosea ‘n Dutch tried, Charles passed by and you didn’t answer but he heard Copper barkin’ and got worried, too.” He explains, “few hours later, you still weren’t answering, ‘n well… you know how Hosea is,”

“I was just sleeping,” Arthur mumbles, sitting back down when John gave an encouraging shove.

“Clearly,” John says curtly, “How’d this happen, then?” he gestures towards Arthur’s head and Arthur sighs, wincing when the disinfectant John was rubbing stung.

“Been drinkin’,” Arthur admits shamefully, and John gives him a disbelieving stare, “Copper, uh, he was scared or somethin’, spooked me too, um, hit myself in the head… got knocked out,” he leaves out a bit of the details, nothing too necessary… nothing that concerns John.

“Why’d you cave in?” John sighs, and Arthur squirms in his seat as John peels the Band-Aid and plasters it across Arthur’s forehead, “It’s been years, Arthur,”

“Life ain’t the prettiest right now, John,” Arthur mumbles, shying away from John and setting himself further away, “Just wanted some hours without rememberin’ the world,”

“Drinkin’ ain’t the solution, you know it,” John says, placing a warm hand on top of Arthur’s, “I can’t imagine what’chu ‘re goin’ through, ain’t none of us can. You ain’t never alone, though, we might not understand, Arthur but we want to.” His hand slowly squeezes Arthur’s, and something loosens in the eldest’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” Arthur mumbles, and John gives a nod.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A single break, that's all Arthur asks for. But things only get harder and harder as time goes by.
> 
> (Warning for: description of panic attacks)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fast paced fic? Perhaps. Is this the worst it'll get? Nope.

The light that John forced him to let into his home dims as the hours passed. John left, a few hours ago, said he’ll visit if Arthur doesn’t answer again; break down the door if he needs to.

  
Arthur lets him pile promises as he walks out, lingering by the door as John gives him one last, mournful look before climbing into his ugly SUV.

  
Around this time, few weeks prior, he’d be out already. Picking up Isaac from school by now. Arthur thinks, shaking his head when something pickles his heart.

  
Easier to drown himself in liquor, maybe go back to old vices just to have less time to wallow in his pity. Ain’t been the same, nothing will ever the same. His phone pings, battery now restored by John himself.

  
Arthur’s in an enough of a state that John tidied up some, helped him make his bed, fixed up all the pillows too. Felt to him like he wasn’t doing nothing but wasting time, like a babysitter waiting for a toddler to sleep, doing anything to burn their energy.

  
He’s known John for a while now, half his life it seemed, and he knows it ain’t meant like that. Somewhere, deep inside him, where his rational mind is slumbering, he knows John is just concerned and ain’t got the right means to say so.

  
The fridge is buzzing, something he’d been meaning to fix for a bit now, always drove Eliza up the wall. She’d always pick up on the littlest of things.

  
Arthurs face scrunches, nose wanting to revert into his skull as the smell hits him. He turns away, swiping at the air, leaving the fridge door open as he beelines to the Kitchen window, prying it open and sighing. Nothing seems to be going right. Food shouldn’t even be rotten yet, except if Hosea got duped again, pennies ain’t been a problem in a while now, though, after Dutch started his business.

  
He kicks the bin towards the fridge with resentment bubbling deep in his gut. Or it could just be hunger.

  
He was fixing for something to eat, stomach roiling with heat from the liquor he’d choked back yesterday. Head ain’t right, too, pounding like hell’s chasing it down with pitchforks. All he wanted to do is eat, a vice before, a chore now.

  
Most of the food is molding, looking like it never seen a healthy day in its life. Wasn’t left with nothing but the soda’s he’d had for Isaac and Eliza’s favorite milk. The carton stares at him, and he shuts the fridge door when his chest tightens and throat swells. The fridge gives a low squeal as he leans against it, eyes closing and palms flat against the cold buzzing fridge.

  
He’s not hungry anymore.

  
He’s got nothing to do, nothing to busy himself with. No drive to leave his house, no one he could talk to. No one he could talk to about anything other than their death.  
News couldn’t even be hidden; small towns thrive over things like this. Tragedies that hit every other blue moon, a double murder? In a tight knit town like this? Arthur had no choice but to be put on the stage. And when the stations swarmed him? Only two days after their death? Questioning him? Asking if he’d been the one to kill them?

  
Nothing short of vile.

  
If it ain’t been to his neighbors, police would’ve probably locked him up, chalking it up to the usual got crazy and murdered my family thing. Wasn’t even a day before he’d been taken into custody for interrogation.  
It ain’t even over yet, still got a trial to attend to, one of the bastards left a blood stain from where Isaac supposedly hit him. And if it didn’t hurt so much, he’d be proud that his kid fought till the end. Eliza didn’t have the chance…

  
His breath catches at his throat, and almost aggressively, he pushes himself away from the fridge.

  
He’d pace himself till he passes out if he needs to. The curtains almost tear under his hand while he shoves them close, opening the TV and throwing the remote haphazardly. Arthur whistles, waiting for copper to reappear. 

  
A ping, Arthur lifts his head from where he’d cushioned it against the couch, phone glaring open as another ping rings.

  
Hosea, Arthur reads.

  
_[from: Hosea 4:34 pm] Arthur?_

  
_[from: Hosea 4:54 pm] John told me you hurt your head._

  
_[from: Hosea 4:55 pm] do you need us to stop by?_

  
Arthur sets the phone down, blinking the spots out of his eyes, and falling back into the couch. The phone pings again, and Arthur ignores it for a moment in favor of whistling for Copper again. 

  
_[from: Hosea 5:00 pm] we’ll bring food_

  
Arthur contemplates for a moment, staring at the screen before sighing and starting to type.

  
_[to: Hosea 5:02 pm] not hungry_

  
It wasn’t a complete lie, nor the truth. Arthur sits up, watching the bubbles pop up as Hosea types. A firm palm against his eye, Arthur scans the area. Copper hasn’t shown up yet. “Copper? Boy?” Arthur calls, clearing his throat when it stung. 

  
_[from: Hosea 5:07 pm] John said you drank again_

  
Ah, shit. 

  
Of course. Of course, John told them, he didn’t know if he expected anything else. He sort of forgot about the fact that John knew. Another text pops up, and Arthur hesitantly reads it.

  
_[from: Hosea 5:09 pm] I’m worried for you, that’s all. Just please call us if you need to. _

  
He reads it, once, twice, and after the third time decides that he should at least explain himself. Or apologize… or thank them. His thumb hovers to type, but he can’t bring up any words to say. The phone is burning his eyes with its brightness, and so many things are cycling through his head that he can’t focus on one idea. 

  
_I’m sorry_? Should he say that? _I’m a mess_? They already _know_ _that_. There isn’t a proper response, nothing he can really tell them that isn’t already known. They understand, hell, they’ve been his parents for most of his life.   
The phone blinks shut; Arthur had taken too long to respond. He ends up just placing it on the table again and standing up.

  
Copper finally appears, holding something between his jaw and walking briskly towards Arthur, tail wagging. Bending down, Arthur squints in the dark as Copper lets go of the object, letting it fall between Arthur’s feet. Woofing like he wants to play Copper circles around the couch, while Arthur feels the color drain from his face. Numb hands slowly pick up the figurine, slobbered on by Copper and scratched by years of play time. The little angle should not be here, Arthur knows, Arthur remembers. He locked it up, along with most other things he found scattered around the house. 

  
Looking up at Copper, he doubts that the dog could climb into the attic, uncover the box and unlock it. 

  
Maybe he justi... misremembered. 

  
Whatever happened, he doesn’t want this here. It hurts, it brings back too much, and he closes his fist around it as he makes his way to the key dish.

  
The attic hadn’t been touched in two weeks, what once used to be a little room decorated for Isaac to play in, when the outside wasn’t enough; is now nothing but a dark area that Arthur has stuffed everything he doesn’t want to remember in. It’s dark, it’s stiff, the air is still. 

  
His feet feel like planks as he pulls off the cover that hides the large box, silver key warming in his hand as he unlocks it. It takes a few steady breaths, a lot of shifting, and the painful reminder that he’d see the figurine every day if he didn’t do this, eventually, he musters up enough determination to open the creaky box. 

  
He doesn’t open it enough that he sees the things he’s stuffed inside, just fits the figurine and locks it right back up, locking it hastily and not bothering to cover it before bolting away. 

  
Breath in his throat, chest tight, something prickles at the back of Arthur’s mind. A suspicious guilt that starts to snake down his neck as he pulls up the attic door closed and lets himself rest on the floor. 

  
A flash of their faces fills his vision when he closed his eyes, and the nightmare comes back to him almost instantly. 

  
Through narrow breathing, Arthur whistles but it comes out as more of a wheeze. He remembers now, remembers why he locked it up. When it rains it pours, and Arthur does all he can to hold back the floor.

  
Almost sensing his distress, Copper’s pitter-pattering steps come closer, and soon enough, there’s a reassuring pressure pressing against him. Copper presses into his chest, licking at his face. It’s a routine he isn’t too unfamiliar with, especially these past few weeks.

  
Satisfied that Arthur isn’t as upset anymore, Copper bounces back but doesn’t move away, instead laying his head on Arthur’s thigh and letting Arthur pet him.

Unknowingly falling asleep, Arthur sound himself startling awake by an echoing thud. Copper wakes up too, ears perking up and tail raising. Arthur pets him softly off, and Copper stands defensively in front of Arthur.   
Arthur flinches, almost jumps in his skin at the second thud. Pulse in his heart, fears running through his head, he ushers Copper behind him as he takes careful, quiet steps towards his room. He has a bat there, he’s pretty sure he hadn’t moved it.

  
Backing into his bedroom, Arthur toes his way towards the closet, freezing when Copper barked just outside his door. Copper growled, and Arthur turned quickly, torn between facing the intruder bare handed or grabbing the bat and risking Copper’s life.  
The thud comes terrifyingly close, and Copper moves backwards as he barks, growling up a storm. Too late now, Arthur decides, taking a few long steps and almost comically bursting out the room, Copper running back towards the stairs as Arthur stares.  
Nothing.

  
Well… almost nothing. 

  
Arthur could swear he saw a figure standing there, but it could be his mind playing tricks on him. Far too dark to see, Arthur slowly retreats into the room and actually grabs the bat this time. 

  
Last time, it’d been because Isaac forgot to lock the door… 

  
As silent as he can, with paranoia prickling at the backs of his ears down to his spine, Arthur checks the house. Copper beside him, pushing past him to check the rooms and sniff around. 

  
It’s almost eerie how he finds nothing, bat now only held loosely in his grip as he rechecks the hallway, pausing when something creaks behind him.

  
Copper turns, eyes fixed somewhere behind Arthur. Just standing there, staring, and something stops Arthur from turning. There’s a clutch around his lungs, a firm warning, something urging him not to look back. At the same time, there’s urgency coursing through his blood, powering his feet. Almost like pins and needles running up his legs, and his mind bounces between look back, and don’t look back. 

  
In the end, Arthur forces his stiff muscles to spin him, and a sense of dread and… relief. His shoulders fall, unbeknownst to him that they’ve been held almost up to his ears. Copper remains still, and Arthur barely spares a glance to look at him when he hears it.

  
Isaac’s door creaks open at the edge of his vision, and Arthur snaps his gaze at it. The dread threatens to choke him when it swiped open ever gently, till it hit the wall, and the inside remained as dark as Arthur left it. Almost automatically, Arthur goes to close the door, ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  
Like a trigger, when Arthur blindly reached for the door handle, trying to see as little of the room as possible, there’s a click, and the bulb above him shines blinding light down on him. He freezes, heart pounding in his chest as the silence stretches around him. He doesn’t know what to think, now, as he looks beside him to where the light switch is… flipped on.   
Numbly, Arthur’s closes it again. Turns to the door, grabbing the handle and stepping out of the room. An inch away from clicking shut, Arthur finds the light shining again, followed by a click. 

  
His ears strain to listen to any movement inside, someone fucking with him, a messed up serial killer, or maybe one of the assholes who took Isaac and Eliza away from him. He closes the door, steps away from it. Waiting for someone to pop out at him, it’s awfully dark, now that he thinks about it. He can feel his skin crawl, hair on his arm standing up while he just… _waits_. 

  
He sucks in a breath, tries to calm his heartbeat, looks towards where Copper is now sitting on the floor, head on his paws.   
He feels it before he can hear it, like his heart sank inside his chest, the click of the door opening, the creaking of it swinging open, only slightly. Not enough to see inside, but the light is still on. 

  
Copper raises his head, and Arthur watches him before finally pushing the door open, waiting on the doorstep. He can see no one inside, nothing, empty of life. 

  
That’s the _opposite_ of comforting. 

  
Panic building up under his skin, Arthur wishes he had his phone on him. He doesn’t know who, but he needs someone to ground him. Someone to have on a line, if anything goes wrong then someone will know. 

  
He has a feeling he shouldn’t turn his back to the room, though. 

  
Finally, feeling like cement is weighing down his feet, he steps inside. Goes to turn the light off again; something bumps into the side of his foot halts him. 

  
Eyes cast down, Arthur is mostly confused as he stares at the ball at his feet. The signatures littering it faded, after years of usage. He **knows**. Arthur knows for sure he hid this one. 

  
_**He knows**_. 

  
He knows he put it away, he knows.   
Breath shuddering, Arthur jumps violently when a loud crash sounds above, sending copper to a fit of barks as Arthur sits down, head spinning with too many thoughts, forehead dripping sweat down to his eyelashes. He didn’t even realize how hot he felt, how his shirt sticks uncomfortably to his skin. 

  
His breathing is hard to control, short bursts of agonizingly fast inhales. His pulse is in his ear, and he only gets warmer and warmer. He knows the signs, he listened to the doctor, and he knows he should lay down and try to count. Or try to familiarize again, but there’s only a sick sense of dread building up in his chest, climbing up to his throat, and he forces himself to his feet. 

  
He’s wobbly, almost staggering out of the room, walking in a haze. He doesn’t even know where he’s going, what his destination is. All he knows is that he can’t breathe, and that something is fucking with him, and that he needs to get out. 

  
The air is chilly against his soaked skin, almost feeling feverish, Arthur sinks to his knees on his front yard. It’s dark outside, but his porch light is on, and he just lays there. Closing his eyes, forcing the spiral of incomprehensible thoughts to settle, building a picture in his mind. 

  
Ground, grass, sky, _blue_ sky. 

  
Cars, a road, a picnic. 

  
Him, copper, _Isaac, Eliza_. 

  
A field… he’s in a field… he’s safe and away, and he’s with Eliza and Isaac. 

**Author's Note:**

> little peace before the storm.


End file.
